


A Diversion

by Servetolive



Category: Star Trek: Deep Space Nine
Genre: Dubious Consent, Gang Rape, M/M, Multi, Non-Consensual Drug Use
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-16
Updated: 2017-10-16
Packaged: 2019-01-18 02:35:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,879
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12379101
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Servetolive/pseuds/Servetolive
Summary: The Jem’Hadar find more than one use for a stranded Starfleet doctor. S04x04 "Hippocratic Oath"





	A Diversion

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted on LJ in 2010.

“Let him go.”

I couldn’t say anything; not only because I was glued in place and knew that the last thing Goran’Agar wanted to hear was anything that would come out of my mouth, but also because I was, in my head, laying down right next to Miles, the breath being squeezed from my own throat. 

I knew little about the Jem’Hadar and its hierarchical procedures besides what I’d seen of the First and his men.. I _did_ know that if the subordinate that had his hand clamped around the chief’s throat did not let up soon, he would be dead right next to my friend. 

Peripherally, I saw Goran’Agar take a warning step closer to the debacle. I hoped that the fear of death would ultimately gain preference in the soldier’s train of thought, but as his hand tightened around Miles’ neck and the innate intent of murder showed in the whites of the Jem’Hadar’s eyes, I realized how much of a long shot that would be. 

_My God,_ I thought helplessly, _They’re going to kill him._

Words filled my head autonomously as I began to mentally compose the letter of consolation that I would be obligated to present to his widow with. _Dear Mrs. O’Brien, I regret to inform you that the chief will not be present at Molly’s graduation or wedding, nor will you ever share plum wine with your husband, accompanied by the eloquent, tranquil plucking of Minazaki’s koto._

“You know what the penalty is for insubordination.” I heard the threat alongside the hissing noises Miles made as he struggled for air. He would be brain dead in seconds unless I could help him.

_The reason is simple: As his superior officer, I failed him for the sake of the enemy._

I was at his side for only a moment, long enough to give him a superficial diagnosis--truthfully, a bruised trachea would have been the best-case scenario. Then they whisked him away, and I was left to tend to the wounded and offer what limited advice I could.

Goran’Agar’s reaction to the whole situation was shocking. I thought for sure that I would be killed, that the density of his anger would manifest itself into what we had just witnessed with the chief. Or that, most likely, his underlings would demand my blood for the injuries sustained. I saw it in their eyes that they despised me, and that any further failures would result in my being the culpable party.

When they had dragged the injured soldier off to the ship, I wished they had taken me with them: Goran’Agar’s silence was just as heavy and disturbing as the whole fiasco, if not more. Apologies meant nothing to these people, especially coming from an enemy officer who had poorly attempted to bullshit his way into sabotage, so I cleared my throat, wiped the sweat that had been eating at the corner of my eyes and attempted in earnest to get back to work.

Minutes later, my silent pleas that Goran’Agar would go away and busy himself elsewhere went unanswered. Eventually, the guards returned one by one, and something about their presence made me slightly less uncomfortable.

It was a momentary sense of relief.

Too soon I realized that the footmen were not pacing back and forth as guards do. The four of them stayed clustered together; the first one I recognized--with some difficulty, as I still find it hard to tell Jem’Hadar apart--as the soldier who had nearly strangled Miles to death. As I realized this, our eyes met briefly, and a cold, sharp sensation struck through me. I did not steal any more glances, but moved about my workstation in a hurry, making as though I were engulfed in concentration. In reality, the sweat flowed in heavier rivers, pooling at the base of my neck.

It would be absurd to say that I wasn’t afraid before I saw Miles’ would-be executioner stalk up to Goran’Agar and whisper in his ear, but after that, I found it considerably harder to hide it. My sleeve swept across my brow several times more in a few minutes than necessary.

“--you showed us, the way Alpha Quadrant species--”

I tried to mind my own business and concern myself only with enzymes and bio-chemistry so that I couldn’t hear the rest, but as I felt the vibration of their footsteps close in on me, I got the feeling that they knew I could. 

I wasn’t the least bit surprised when Goran’Agar tore me from my station by the back of my collar. I heard the seams burst. My head slammed against the bedrock, and through the haze of a concussion, the pounding, incessant feeling of imminent death eased away. I could barely even register the rattle of the disruptor pistol’s muzzle against my teeth as it entered.

“Doctor,” Goran’Agar said in his severe voice, his face unchanging. His Second glowered at me beside him, his hand ready at his disruptor belt. “It appears that I have failed to win you over to our cause.”

Thinking back on that moment, I can’t help but laugh, wondering why in God’s name my mental facilities began to shut down at a time like that.

“And it appears that my men require a distraction from their condition.”

\--  
ii.

The concept of struggling didn’t even enter into my mind. The last thing I wanted was to be in a state of extreme discomfort just before being vaporized.

“You men, there,” the Second jerked his head towards the guards that he stood by earlier. “Make space for the human.”

After a couple of arm sweeps, I witnessed my insignificant collection of samples shatter as they hit the ground. Goran’Agar gestured towards me, and another foot soldier came to replace him, clamping a tight hand around the bicep that the First was holding. The second Goran’Agar released me, his replacement and the Second pulled me away from the wall. I landed harshly onto the make-shift lab table, crushing test tubes and small beakers that the guards had neglected to clear. Upturned bits of broken glass shredded through my uniform and prodded at the small of my back. I tried to put as little pressure as possible there, but I suppose the Jem’Hadar saw my movements as a bid to escape, and two more of them came to stand adjacent to either side of my head, slamming my arms down and securing them.

I rolled my head to either side, the only action that was apparently permissible--every time I made an attempt to lift myself away from the shards beneath me, the soldiers dug their sharp nails into my wrists. 

I can’t say that I had absolutely no idea what they had planned for me. It had actually been quite obvious, if I recount the manner in which they had my arms secured painfully at either side of my head and left my legs free to move about. Had I struggled or attempted to twist away, I risked breaking both of my arms.

“If you plan to kill me,” I said through gritted teeth, tasting the sweat that had pooled around the corners of my mouth. “Then why all of these dramatics?”

“Why is he still talking?” The Second, who clearly did not like me, demanded. “You would think by now that fear would have run its course.”

“Humans are different than what you’re used to,” Goran’Agar responded in a quiet, musing tone. I could see very little over my chest without straining my neck, but it was enough to watch his hands remove the clasp that would free him of the vest that served as the first layer of his uniform. It fell open, and as he pulled at the zipper of his body suit, the device made a burning sound in my ears.

“Capitulation is not in their nature. It is introduced.”

I swallowed, heavily.

“What are you doing?” The Third cried, shocked; he looked from Goran’Agar to me, and then back at Goran’Agar, his mouth agape.

“Showing you what enjoyment lies in wait for us when we are no longer slaves.” And then he gave a curt order to the two soldiers who had my arms. “Strip him.”

Wisely, they had chosen not to wear sidearms; or at least, not in a place easily accessible by me. Each man took one hand off one of my arms and used the other to undo the top of my uniform. I was still. Even if I were strong enough to wrench free of their grasps, there were five of them; I could not fight back and hope to be so lucky the next time I pissed them off.

And more importantly, there was the Chief to worry about; that something terrible may befall him because I failed a second time was enough reason not to aggravate the situation further.

Momentarily, the guards let me go so that they could pull my arms out of the sleeves of my jacket. The instant that my hands were free lasted all of seven seconds, and in that time, no plausible escape plan came to mind. There went my chance.

“That’s enough,” Goran’Agar said, once my top, pants, boots and underwear were shed. I was left in my thin, gray undershirt, which offered very little protection from the glass that was now slowly edging into my skin. 

Exposed to these aliens, I kept my head parallel to the table and focused on the foliage that blocked my view of the sky. There was the unmistakable sound of clothing being moved aside. A quick glance at Goran’Agar told me that he was still clothed--except for a sliver of gray that parted the black jumpsuit that all Jem’Hadar wore close to their rough, uneven hides.

“Is this what Alpha Quadrant races do in their free time?” One of the guards scoffed.

“ _Be quiet._ ”

An irritating sensation crawled down my calves, and I had no choice but to bite my lip and ignore it. I originally thought that it was one of the indigenous insects biting its way down my leg, but as a draft of cool air came in contact with it, I realized that they were single beads of sweat on each limb. In fact, similar beads were running in places all over my body. The heat was insidious.

Goran’Agar’s cold palms pressed into the back of my legs, obliterating the drops of sweat that had been accumulating there. I was distracting myself by contemplating the crude, coarse texture of Jem’Hadar flesh when he suddenly pulled me towards him. My back scraped against the table, and the glass that I had tried so hard to avoid sliced into my back. Some of it spilled over and crashed to the ground.

I cried out, and was promptly rewarded with one of the soldier’s clamping his hand over my mouth. My lips ached as they were pushed into the sharp edges of my teeth. God knows why, but even still I strained against their grip, lifting my neck so that I could see. My eyes didn’t get very far before Goran’Agar pushed into me; the bristling, scalding pressure of his cock sent my head reeling back onto the bed of glass.

 _Stop, pull out, wait,_ I wanted to say against the cold palm of the soldier’s hand as I felt my hole stretching. The words came out in mangled sputters, interrupted by a groan or two as Goran’Agar worked to push more of the head in. He withdrew experimentally before nudging again. I took the brief pause between attempts to take a few deep, shuttered breaths against the confining hand, bracing myself for the moment when the Jem’Hadar would rectify himself and try again without hesitation or restraint.

He worked his hands beneath both of my buttocks and used his thumbs hold me open as he disengaged a second time, leaving a thick trail of pre-ejaculate that followed his cock. The nails digging into the edge of my inner walls was unpleasant, to use understating words. At least the whole of my body was consistently pained with the sensation of sharp glass edging into my skin.

For the last time, Goran’Agar poised himself and pushed, heedlessly sliding more than halfway in. I hissed against the hand, which had slackened as the other four soldiers had taken a sudden interest in their First’s interaction with my ass. 

The more he wedged himself in, the more pre-come he emitted inside of me, which made the agitating surface of his cock more bearable to take. I can’t say that I expected the Jem’Hadar to behold smooth, pliable penises, but no amount of sex with aliens would have prepared me for the dull ridges that twisted and dragged along my insides, causing me to tense up each time Goran’Agar pulled away. I counted myself a fool for thinking that it would bear little difference from having sex with Garak. Two minutes in, and I was ready to beg for him to fuck me faster so that we could be done with it. Though, I doubt that the Jem’Hadar would have appreciated such a disruption in their focused states of mind--the entire time, Goran’Agar had kept his eyes fixed on the point of our joining, deep in concentration as though he were planning a tactical move on a battlefield from above a map.

To ease the pain in my back, I utilized the only movement I was allowed and raised my hips slightly. Nobody stopped me. It was here that our bodies seemed to reach a mutual agreement; Goran’Agar let an abysmal “Hrrm!” pass through his firm lips as the tip of his cock prodded at me at an angle that caused me to cry out and fall soundly back against the table. The contact was enough to distract me from the small lacerations in my back. The hand gone from my face, I lifted my head and my own erection came into view, partially obscuring Goran’Agar and his increasingly fluid movements. 

The other men noticed as well. Goran’Agar pulled out all the way, his cock head resting ominously against my asshole, which remained gaping without his help. As the air hit my exposed flesh, I realized, somewhat alarmingly, that I was numb and tingling where I had come into contact with Goran’Agar’s bodily fluids.

“What’s this?” One of the men said suddenly, gesturing lightly towards my dick. He tapped the tip lightly, to which I stifled a moan. They all focused on the single bead of pre-come that welled up and threatened to slide down my shaft.

I swallowed and dared to answer. “A natural reaction to physical stimulus.”

I don’t know if they had any idea what that meant, but their thoughts mattered the least to me; unlike Goran’Agar’s, whose eyes I finally met as his mouth spasmed into what is the closest anything could come to a Jem’Hadar smirk and jerked forward, filling me again. 

I exhaled sharply. My back arched involuntarily, and I found myself lifting my hips closer to his as his rhythm neared closer to one of steadiness. I was still feeling the tremors from the shock of arousal as I had drank in Goran’Agar’s quick display of satisfaction. The numbness from his pre-come spread throughout me, and the burn of his ridged skin dulled into consistent, wet strokes that I began to feel race through my nerves, straight to my increasingly hard cock. 

Goran’Agar pulled my thighs so that they were flush to his chest and leaned forward so that the crown of his head were directly in my line of vision. Already, I was soaked in his fluids--unlike humans, Jem’Hadar seemed to expel pre-ejaculate in larger quantities over time. Above me, the stars shifted and left the paths that they had been charted on for thousands of years. Blinking seemed to take forever; I could no longer focus on any point before me.

Something was wrong with me, and yet it’s here where I crossed the blurred line of survival and tolerance to hunger and submission.

\--

iii.

Hearing myself plead, or cry out, or even laugh in this case, and not realizing it was my own voice until seconds later, is unnerving when looking at it in retrospect. At the time, however, there was nothing else I would rather have been doing. 

The warm, numbing effect was spreading throughout my nervous system, but as it did little but enhance every sensory detail that I came in contact with, I welcomed it. The strange, potentially dangerous details of Goran’Agar’s cock became increasingly fascinating to me as I beared down against him. The faces of the others smeared into one.

I wanted to touch myself. Forgetting that my hands were secured, I pushed against them unsuccessfully. They tightened their grip as I writhed against the now negligible glass, holding myself to Goran’Agar as he pounded into me.

Briefly, I saw the whites of his teeth as he tensed and came inside. His seed was cold and abundant: he stayed stiff for nearly thirty seconds as the liquid spurted endlessly inside of me, the membranes of my body soaking up the toxins and throwing me into an abrupt fit of nausea. When he pulled out, I heard the semen splatter against the table. The guards let go of my arms as I doubled up momentarily. My thighs vibrated warmly; I felt my pulse radiating in my ears.

“How was it?” I heard the Second ask, his curiosity genuine. After a long pause, filled with the sounds of Goran’Agar regulating his breathing, I heard his zipper run curtly back up the front of his uniform. 

“Try for yourself.”

Judging by how quickly the Second tore my legs back open and pulled me up to him, the rest were also just as eager for this hands-on “taste of freedom.” I can’t say that I didn’t enjoy this fact, that I could offer them some relief beyond a half-empty guarantee to try and find a cure for an addiction that may be compulsory for their species. By this time, I had no knowledge of the glass or any pain--just a subsiding sickness in the stomach that I quickly attributed to the foreign substance entering my body before bracing myself again.

The Jem’Hadar rotated in their positions; the men restraining my arms switched out and Goran’Agar replaced one of them. His wet, sticky hand encircled my wrist. He gave me no further consideration, but kept his focus on his subordinate, who had already taken enough from watching his superior and was slicking his own organ with pre-come. This time, nobody was holding my head down, and I was able to get a better look at what was penetrating me. Had I not been affected by Goran’Agar’s fluids, though, I’d be able to give details more explicitly.

No pre-amble necessary. The Second slipped in with much less finesse than his predecessor, but immediately got the angle right. I was still hard, but as this one had less girth than Goran’Agar, my focus remained on the tingling sensations that were dancing around my fingertips. I did jump a bit whenever he hit my prostate, but for the most part, I lay there, reliving the way my cock jumped at the sight of Goran’Agar’s firmly-shut mouth spreading.

The Second came unceremoniously, holding back a grunt as I overflowed with the substance. They rotated and a junior soldier took his place.

“Get up,” he said to me. I had no idea that he was talking to me until Goran’Agar and the other man holding my arms yanked me up into a sitting position. His young, unchiseled voice sounded foreign and weak to me in comparison to the First and Second’s bassy growls.

“Turn around.” 

I should have known that this would have come sooner or later. I used the opportunity to knock over pieces of glass and clear a way for my knees. Other than that, I did exactly as I was told, and preempted the inevitable order to get up on all fours. I shuddered in anticipation, reminded of Garak’s preferred method of fucking and wondered if the Jem’Hadar had any other mating habits in common with the Cardassians.

The Jem’Hadar didn’t even self-lubricate--enough had been left by his superiors to negate the necessity. He slid in, and the angled contact made me yell and jump forward. His size compared well to Goran’Agar’s, and I found myself enjoying it much more quickly than I did with the Second. 

He dug his nails into my sides and, wanting to make sure he enjoyed every movement, he moved slowly and deliberately inside and out. I caught myself twisting my head to look behind me at what he was doing and the image of how I must look emerged in my mind--a Starfleet doctor shed of the prestige of his uniform; mouth open, naked and spread out to a particularly brutal enemy, skin rippling with enjoyment.

As though my tongue were beckoning for it, one of the men who had previously held my arms down went for the buckles of his trousers and exposed himself. On initial contact, his pre-come burned my taste-buds, but then the numbing overcame it and this too I welcomed. My tongue busied itself with mapping the idiosyncrasies of the Jem’Hadar prick, running alongside raised, stone-like ridges and seeking out the multiple veins that ran there. Eventually, my lips numbed, and sucking this faceless soldier off became nearly as enjoyable as being fucked by the one behind me. Swallowing, though, seared me all the way down to my stomach, but my dazed state gave me no room to be concerned about anything but feeling these men move their cocks in and out of me.

He grabbed handful of my hair and jerked forward as he came. I had no time to breathe between spurts. Forcefully, I yanked away, coughing as the excess spilled out of my mouth while the rest sank down my esophagus. Surprisingly, there was no onslaught of nausea--just another intense aura of warmth that enhanced my sensory nerves and debilitated my motor and visual functions. 

_I like this,_ I thought. _I love it._ As the young Jem’Hadar began pounding in earnest, the hazy thought crossed my mind of everybody on the station bearing witness to this, to me being fucked on the Promenade by these adversaries. 

I wanted my parents to see it, so they could witness that their precious, expensive creation was capable of the same base urges that once corrupted our kind nearly to oblivion. I wanted the captain to see it, so that he may no longer dismiss my potential as that of any naive, starry-eyed youth besotted with his own supposedly limitless possibilities.

The Jem’Hadar youth came violently inside, his last stroke rubbing furiously against my spot. 

_I want Miles to see this, simply to relish the look of disgust contorting the fine lines of his self-righteous face._

And then I arched, tensed, and came onto the blood and semen spattered table.

I remember darkness next, and the mirror image of the pulsating stars that watched us burned onto my retinas.


End file.
